Fealty to the Fallen
by Kina Kalamari
Summary: In the wake of Zamorak's betrayal, Azzanadra pulls together the pieces of Zaros' final instructions. Unfortunately for him, there are those who want him out of the picture, and they have devised a devious scheme. [Oneshot – the lead-up to Azzanadra's imprisonment in the Third Age.]


**A/N: Here's a lore-heavy third age fic that I wrote as a Christmas present to my friend Alex (aka Tylixe). I'm not a Zarosian myself, but he is.**

**For anyone reading this who is also reading Shadows of a Lost Mind, this right here is a lot of the reason there hasn't been a new chapter yet this month. My apologies. I'll try to get to that.**

* * *

Azzanadra walked forward and knelt in front of his Lord, head bowed. "You wanted to see me?"

Zaros half-turned, taking in the sight of his champion in his peripheral vision. "Yes. A matter has arisen that I wish to discuss. I have heard some unsettling rumors. They drift through the world like smoke, hard to see and harder to catch, but I fear we must take them into consideration nonetheless."

"I suppose you mean the rumors of Z—"

"A powerful weapon, yes," Zaros said, apparently not paying very much attention to where Azzanadra's sentence had actually been going. "Something that may possess the power to either secure an empire or overthrow it. I worry that this weapon, should it be discovered, will fall into the wrong hands and become a nuisance. I would like to see it discovered by someone more… suitable."

"What are you talking about?" Azzanadra asked. He had heard no such rumors, but was of course not one to question his Lord. If Zaros said there were rumors, then rumors there were. "What weapon?"

"I do not know the nature of this weapon," Zaros said. "I do not even know if its existence is real. However, I would like to see it investigated. From the whispers that I have gathered, I have surmised that it lies somewhere in the Kharidian Desert. If it does indeed lie at all."

"The desert?" Azzanadra asked. "There's nothing in the desert. Just that old pyramid."

Zaros finally turned to fully face his fellow conversationalist. "An old pyramid would seem the perfect place to hide a weapon of such magnitude, would it not?"

Azzanadra bowed his head again, shamed. "It would, my Lord. My apologies. I didn't mean to question your judgment."

"No," Zaros said. "Of course you did not. Now, I did not call you in here to simply discuss rumors. I wish for you to—"

A shout of alarm broke suddenly through the silence around them, forcing its way through the thick doors of Zaros' chamber from outside.

Azzanadra stood and turned around to face the doors, on his guard. "What was that?"

"I do not know," Zaros said.

More shouts joined the first, and then came the sounds of battle.

Azzanadra's eyes widened. "My Lord, may I have your permission to be dismissed?"

"Granted," Zaros said. "Go see to this situation."

Azzanadra nodded once and ran for the doors, flinging one of them open and rushing out to the battle. Little did he know that in leaving his god alone, he was perfectly following someone else's treacherous plan.

* * *

Azzanadra paced across the floor of Nex's palace, his mind turning with battle plans and counter-attack strategies, and always — always — the gnawing guilt and regret.

Senntisten was a target, they had to protect it, keep it from being overrun.

He should have been there when Zamorak attacked.

What if they picked off the higher-ranking Zamorakians one by one until none of them remained?

He shouldn't have left. No skirmish should ever have taken precedence over the protection of his Lord.

Maybe they could—

"Stop!" Nex commanded him, her spine-chilling voice as assertive as it ever was. "Your restlessness grows tiresome."

He pulled himself to a halt and turned to face her. "Maybe I would be less restless if we had come anywhere near even an _idea_ of a good plan. Zaros has fallen, and look at us! We're holed up in this palace of yours doing nothing to stop the rise of… of this _usurper_." He spat out the last word as though it had burned his tongue.

Nex looked at him levelly, her eyes narrowed. "We are doing what we can. What more would you suggest?"

He slammed a fist down on the table that stood between them. "We should be out there with the rest of them, fighting for his cause!"

"No," she hissed, taking one menacing step forward, "we should not. With no plan, we lower ourselves to the level of chaos. _We must succeed._"

Azzanadra propped both hands against the dark wood of the table, his head hanging between his arms. "Fine. So we need a plan."

"We do," Nex agreed. There was a long moment of silence in which both of them utterly failed to come up with anything. Finally, she said, "You were the last to speak with Lord Zaros. What did he command of you?"

"I don't…" He pushed himself away from the table and turned to face the large pattern of purple stone that decorated the wall. His gaze traced the symbol as he dug back through his memory. "Something about… the desert." He whirled back around. "Of course! The desert! He had heard rumors of a powerful weapon hidden somewhere in the Kharidian Desert. He wanted me to look into it before someone else found it."

"A powerful weapon?" Nex asked.

"A _very_ powerful weapon," Azzanadra replied, a smile beginning to spread over his face. "Looks like I'm going to the desert."

* * *

Over three thousand years later, Azzanadra stalked away from the smoking remains of Uzer, spotted dramatically with the blood of a large horde of demons. He had hoped to kill Thammaron himself, but it seemed as though Uzer's clay-golem-defense had scared the Elder Demon off.

He was back in the desert for what must have been the fiftieth time, once again following a lead that may or may not even end up amounting to anything. This time, at least, he had come across something that had allowed him to vent any bottled-up frustrations he may have had. Taking out (part of) an army of Zamorakian demons had proved to be quite cathartic.

Turning south, he headed for Nardah. Supposedly, someone there had heard something from someone else about something that might have happened somewhere. It wasn't exactly promising, but at this point Azzanadra was willing to try anything. He had been looking for this thing for so long now that he was still looking more out of habit than out of any actual hope of finding anything, but the thought of giving up had honestly not even crossed his mind. He was doing the bidding of his Lord, and he would continue to do so until his Lord came back and told him to stop.

Nardah was an unimpressive little collection of huts and tents. Azzanadra wandered in, disguised as human traveler, and looked around passively. His contact was supposed to know that he was coming.

A red-haired man with a traveling pack on his back came rushing up to him. "Hello, newcomer. For whom does the sparrow fly?"

Azzanadra stared at him blankly. Was he supposed to answer that?

The man frowned. "Does… _Does_ your sparrow fly?"

"I don't have a sparrow," Azzanadra said shortly. "Are you the person who contacted my people about the rumors?"

The man's frown deepened. "I contacted one person, and they said that their contact would answer the question about the sparrow."

"No one told me anything about a sparrow," Azzanadra returned, feeling truly piqued now. "Do you have the information or not?"

"Of course I do," the man said, "but you must answer me about the sparrow before I share it."

Azzanadra stepped forward and grabbed the man by his windpipe. "I am not going to answer any questions about sparrows," he growled, "and _you_ are going to tell me where the mysterious power surge happened."

The man's eyes widened, even as they watered slightly. "Oh! You're here about the power surge? Forgive me, I thought you were someone else."

Azzanadra released him warily. "I am not."

"Good, good." The man offered his right hand for shaking. "My name is Nabanik."

Azzanadra looked at his hand disdainfully, and offered a low growl of distaste instead of a handshake.

Nabanik withdrew his hand. "Right. Well, the mysterious power surge happened a few days ago, near the ancient pyramid to the west of here."

"I scoured the pyramid centuries ago," Azzanadra said. "The thing that I'm looking for is almost certainly not there."

"Are you sure?" Nabanik asked. "I've heard that the pyramid has many hidden qualities. Perhaps you missed something."

Azzanadra glared at him. "Don't presume to tell me what I have or haven't missed."

Nabanik shrugged. "Okay. I'm just here to give you the information."

"Then mind your place," Azzanadra replied, thoroughly ticked off by that point.

Without even offering up any sort of farewell, he turned and left the tiny village. Apparently he was going back to the pyramid.

* * *

The army didn't sneak up on him. The desert was flat for miles, and there would have been no way to stage an ambush. Rather, the army approached him and he let it. Within the swathes of troops, he saw the colors of both Saradomin and Zamorak.

Was he such a threat that he had caused his enemies to cooperate in an attempt to take him down?

He smiled smugly to himself. He could live with that.

He continued toward the pyramid, waiting for the mass of men with spears and swords to catch up. A volley of arrows lifted out of the crowd and arced across the sand. Without a second thought, he threw out his arm. Milliseconds later, the arrows bounced harmlessly off of a sheet of ice beside him.

With a sigh, he turned to face the army. Better get this over with, then.

There was a varying array of battle cries and roars of attack as the mob rushed forward, spears out. Azzanadra deflected the spear tips with ease and continued on to wipe out the entire front line of attack. Sending a whole army to attack one person was great in theory, but in practice the notion fell somewhat short. There was only enough room for about eight people to get at him, and since he could easily take on dozens of men at once, the battle felt a bit like stepping on ants.

He plowed through soldier after soldier, line after line, until — quite suddenly — he felt something that could only be described as a tug on his soul. The sensation was alien and very unpleasant, and he stumbled. He was distracted enough that the nearest soldier's following swing actually landed.

Azzanadra didn't really care that he now had a minor flesh wound across his collarbone. He was far more concerned with the tugging feeling, which had by now grown somewhat stronger. He looked up, his gaze sweeping the land around him, and spotted a very strange sight indeed.

Enakhra was standing at the base of the pyramid, a small, shiny, glowing object cradled in her hand. She saw him looking, and a malicious smile spread over her face.

He swung his gaze over, and found Zemouregal standing nearby. He also had something shiny in his hand.

Farther over, Bilrach. Even farther, Hazeel.

What were they doing?

In the time it had taken him to identify the real threat, the wall of attackers around him had managed to land several more blows and the tugging had become sharper and more painful.

Nausea washed over him, and his vision swam with black.

Something very, very bad was happening.

He did his best to shake off the overwhelming discomfort and staggered forward, tearing through the ranks of soldiers around him and beelining for the pyramid.

He was just over halfway there when all of the strength left his limbs, and he fell to the ground, shaking. The blackness that had been threatening his vision now began to properly overtake it, pushing away the light as it enveloped him.

There was one final pull — like his skeleton was being ripped out through the layers that surrounded it — and then feeling was gone, and the world was no more.

* * *

Centuries — minutes — millennia — seconds later, the world returned, and Azzanadra finally learned what had happened.

* * *

**A/N: So there you have it. My take on Azzanadra's imprisonment. I hope you enjoyed it. I always welcome reviews, of course (seeing them in my inbox makes me smile), and I would love to hear opinions on this. It's the first time I've really delved into the lore with my fanfiction, so feedback would be wonderful. :)**

**Thanks for reading!**

**(Also, if anyone was wondering, it's now part of my personal headcanon that Azzanadra took his disguise from the last person he had really interacted with when he needed to pretend to be human for a bit after being released. I like the idea of it.)**

**(Also also, there's a possibility that I might — _might — _make a series out of this, per Alex's suggestion, and do more "missing pieces" style oneshots. I don't know if I'll actually find the time to do this, but I like the idea of it, so if anyone has any particular bits of lore that they would like brought to prose by yours truly — preferably about the Mahjarrat — throw them at me. But I make no promises.)**


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